


Mouthy

by honey_and_milk



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abuse, Brainwashing, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1713392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_and_milk/pseuds/honey_and_milk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Alexander Pierce takes over as the Winter Soldier's handler, he decides the Soldier needs an attitude adjustment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mouthy

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this thought I had earlier,](http://greekamazon.tumblr.com/post/87211332845/so-ive-been-spending-some-time-trying-to) really an attempt to reconcile the Winter Soldier as he appears in the comics with how he appears in the MCU.

               “Mouthy, isn’t he?” Alexander Pierce chuckles from the control room where they monitor the Winter Soldier’s mission.  A few of the techs offer hesitant chuckles, and Piece smiles indulgently before shutting them down.  “He’s right, though.  Your other operatives are cocking this up.  Recall Phillips and Smith, the Soldier can handle this without them.”  The head tech blanches, but relays the order without question, and alerts the Soldier of the change. 

               “Fuckin’ _finally_ ,” comes the voice over the comm, and then silence as the Soldier does his good work. 

* * *

               The Soldier does a quick visual sweep of Pierce’s expansive office as he enters, and cocks an eyebrow.  It isn’t protocol to meet anywhere after the mission other than the secure facility where the Soldier had no doubt reported.  Pierce had requested he be sent here.   The plush comfort of the place must be disconcerting, and so too must be the lack of the presence of anyone else. 

               “Mission report,” orders Pierce and the Soldier’s posture goes rigid as he obeys the command. 

               “All three targets were successfully dispatched, according to the parameters outlined in the mission briefing.  Additionally, I was required to remove a witness who observed Agent Phillips making his kill shot.  Authorities will identify the cause of her death as drowning.  They will most likely classify her death as an accident, related to the high quantities of alcohol that will be found in her system.”

               “Would _you_ like a drink?” Pierce interrupts, pouring a brandy for himself and reaching for another tumbler.  The Soldier’s eyes narrow, slightly confused, as though he doesn’t know how to answer the question.   

               “Yes sir,” he says after a moment, but his voice holds no indication that he has any desire for a drink, merely that he thinks it is the answer Pierce wants to hear.  He takes the tumbler when Pierce hands it to him, but doesn’t drink from it, choosing instead to continue with his report. 

               “Due to the additional time required to attend to the witness, I returned to operational headquarters approximately 30 minutes later than initially anticipated.  I was then sent here.” 

               “Take a sip,” Pierce smiles at the Soldier, returning to his seat.  The Soldier obeys mechanically.  “Good?” he asks.  There is nothing on the Soldier’s face that betrays whether he liked or disliked the drink, whether he had even felt the burn of the alcohol.  He stares at Pierce for a moment longer than Pierce feels he should. 

               “It’s irrelevant, sir,” the Soldier says flatly and places the remainder of his drink on the desk.  “You should be inquiring about Phillips.” 

               “Oh, should I?” Pierce meets the Soldier’s gaze and takes another sip of his drink.  “So what about Phillips?” 

               “He’s incompetent,” is the simple response.  “I won’t work with him again.”   Pierce smiles slowly and indulgently, unfurls from his seat like a cat after prey.  He steps around the desk and backhands the Soldier _hard_ across the face.  The Soldier says nothing, but his eyes are dangerous – or they would be, to someone not in Pierce’s position. 

               “You will work with whoever I order you to work with, _whenever_ I order it, _whatever_ I ask you to do,” Pierce says calmly.  “Is that understood?”

               “Yes _sir_ ,” replies the Soldier with bitten-off words.  Pierce backhands him again. 

               “And you will not speak to me in that tone.”  The Soldier inhales deeply and lets a slow breath out before he responds to Pierce in a controlled timbre. 

               “Yes sir.” 

               “You are a weapon.  You do not have opinions.  You are mine to wield.” 

               “Yes sir,” the Soldier says again, his face a passive mask.  Pierce hits him again and the expression does not change.  He picks up the Soldier’s tumbler and returns to his chair, kicking his feet up on the desk. 

               “You’re right though,” Pierce grins.  “Phillips is a vulnerability.  Kill him, and then return to your handlers.”  The Soldier nods, face still impassive, and heads for the door. 

               “Oh,” says Pierce, halting the Soldier in the doorway, “and excellent work tonight.  We couldn’t have done it without you.”  He smiles and raises his glass at the Soldier’s back as he leaves without a glance. 

               He was going to have to work hard to break that one of his bad habits. 


End file.
